


Taking the stand

by Hermit9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Frank Castle/Karen Page if you squint, Gen, POV Frank Castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode : Guilty as Sin</p><p>A quick Fix-it. The scene between Castle and Matt bugged me in this episode. Lots of dialogue lifted from the episode before I take it in a slightly different direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the stand

It wasn’t the suit and the pressed shirt; he had worn a dress uniform before, the formal clothes didn’t bother him. But something did, it was dim, at the edge of his mind. He gave himself a mental assessment, like checking for injuries in the field. Healing bruises, ribs still sore but he wasn’t wheezing anymore. Pain still in the mangled bones of his foot if he flexed it with any weight. And this itch he could not scratch, between his shoulder blades, painfully focused and immaterial at the same time.

“ _What if I find these men that did this to my family? What if.. What if nothing changes? What.. if this is just me now?_ "

There’s a ripple in the audience before he walks out, a clamor of threat and, strangely enough, encouragements? He keeps his eyes steady, not feeling overly concerned by the threats, no weapons in a courtroom, officers around him, and he knows he can take a surge of civilians, even with the cuffs. He sits at the stand, uncomfortable, feeling vulnerable and boxed in by the wooden box. The officer escorting him leans over, in a whisper. 

“Remember what you want, Frank.”

He looks past him, to the two lawyers fighting for him. The usual one, Foggy, is leaning towards the tall thin one, but his stance is more aggressive than usual. It makes him slightly interested. They are having a low voiced, half whisper conversation. Karen is ignoring both of them, focusing on her notes or looking at him with those clear blue eyes. Cornflower, he thinks. The color is cornflower blue. He wonders how he knows that. A different part of him wonders if this is cheating on his family. As if as much as she’s helping him remember, she’s also taking them from him somehow. 

“ _Don’t you deserve to know that, too?_ "

He doesn’t really hear the bailiff swearing him in, his answer a grunt more than a word. His attention gets called back to his lawyer. The one who took his case and then never showed in court. Matt. His name is Matt. Tall, gangly, blind, white cane.

“Mr. Castle, you've been charged with multiple capital crimes. Been called a killer incapable of empathy or remorse.”

Not far from how he’d describe himself. Exactly what the kid from yesterday would have called him. Karen was wrong. He was a monster. A monster with rivers of blood on his hands. Rotten blood that deserved to be spilled, but that had once run in someone else’s family.

“ Hmm. Yeah. So I hear.”

“Frank... May I call you Frank?”

That caught his attention properly. He narrowed his eyes. Not gangly. Tall and dressed in slightly too large clothes. Matt was hunching his shoulders, making himself look small and helpless. But he knew that voice. He had heard it on the roof and in the cemetery. His perception shifted, like the man in front of him coming in focus. _Red_.

“Yeah.”

Red smiled. A small, gentle thing. That was familiar as well.

“I don’t think you’re a monster Frank. But I’m going to need you to help me show that to the others here” he paused for a moment to let the murmur of the crowd die down. “I need you to tell your story today. Like you told me before”. He smiled again, a grin this time, trying to encourage him.

“I.. “ he swallowed, hard. He knew what story Red was asking him to tell. But it made him feel so raw and a dying confession against a grave was one thing, but the crowd looking at him made him feel too open, too vulnerable.

“I know it’s hard Frank.” The voice was soft again. “But Karen hasn’t heard it yet, ok? So just tell it to her.” Red moved off to the side, cane tapping rhythmically with his steps. “Just focus on what you’re saying.” Frank nodded, thankful for the way the attorney had positioned himself, filling his line of sight and blocking the jury.

“One batch, two batch. Penny and dime” he closed his eyes. 

When he opened them again he tried to focus on Karen. On the genuine care he saw beneath the fear in her. So much fear. Maybe, when this was all over, he would find what was scaring her and he could punish them too. Haltingly, feeling light headed, like he was still suffering from the blood loss and trauma of that night he retold his story. He told her about the deployments, about the book, about being tired. He told her about never having a chance to read the story to his little girl, the one who liked the dinosaurs, he had told her about he before. He felt the shift in the crowd as he talked, a change in the silence, less whispers. He didn’t dare look up. When Red spoke again he almost jumped, confused for a second.

“What happened that day? The day your family was so tragically killed.”

“That story she’s heard.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve to live with those images in her head more than she already does.” Raw, too open. He had to get a grip on himself.

“Ok” said Red, tapping his way back to his table. He bent down and whispered something to Karen, too low for others to hear. Karen nodded and met Frank’s eye and slowly reached down to get a pair of earbuds from her purse. Raising them to her ear and showing him how she was putting music on her phone. Then Matt turned to face Frank, effectively hiding Karen with his body, like he had hidden the jury before.

“Thank you”

“I understand, it's difficult.”

“Do you?” He was more in control now. This was facts and tactical. This he could do. He described that day, the wounds. The calibers of the bullets. The numbers, the depths, the impact. Clinical. Like the coroner’s report that should have been.

There was another shift in the room. Colder. Horror now. He didn’t care. Red’s voice floating to him, but the room was too bright, this was Matt not Red. Small difference. He liked the night time version better. He was more honest when it was dark. 

“How often do you see them like that?”

“Everytime I go to sleep. And everytime I wake up.” He grunted, a self depreciating shadow of a laugh “I drink a lot of coffee. When I’m out there. Not so much since they threw me in jail.”

“No further question, your honor”.

Silence, stretching, as Reyes rose for her turn.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. That rant thing Matt went on in the episode, about vigilantes? It bothered me. A lot.


End file.
